Page 121 of The Unwilling Bride
I had to stifle a chuckle at that. Briar tried to talk her out of the rosebuds, but I told her it added to the atmosphere.
"You look beautiful." Briar admires me.
The dress is simpler than anything I ever imagined I might wear to my own wedding. But I took one look at it and fell in love. It feels appropriate for what is not really a wedding but is also very much a wedding.
It’s blush instead of white, the soft color warming my skin rather than washing it out. The fabric falls smoothly from the fitted bodice, skimming my waist before drifting down to just below my knees.
The sleeves are delicate lace that reach my elbows, the pattern light against my skin. When I move my arms the lace shifts and catches the light, giving the dress a quiet elegance that feels surprisingly right for the moment.
I smooth my palms over the skirt, feeling the soft fabric slide beneath my fingers.
In the mirror earlier, Zoey insisted the dress was ‘criminally flattering.’ I rolled my eyes at her, but secretly, I was relieved.
Grace called me this morning to say she couldn’t make it because she has to cover a Doctors Without Borders rescue mission. I’m disappointed, but I understand. It's an opportunity she couldn’t turn down.
I tuck the errant strand of hair that never seems to stay in place behind my ear.
My hair is swept back loosely, and the fascinator perched on one side adds a touch of ceremony I love.
It’s made of blush silk petals and a whisper of fine netting that curves lightly over my temple. When I move, the tiny veil brushes my cheek.
It’s delicate. Feminine.
And somehow, it makes this whole thing feel more real than it did before.
I glance down at the ring on my finger, the emerald catching the light in a quiet flash of green.
For a moment, my chest tightens.
This might be an arrangement. But standing here in this dress, about to walk into that room… It doesn’t feel entirely like one. So what, if it’s at the Town Hall with the registrar as officiant. The man I’m going to marry…is the very man I’ve dreamed of being with since I first saw him.
It may not be a declaration of love…but the end result? I’m still here. Ready to walk down the aisle to him.
The doors open.
A quiet shift in the air tells me the room inside has fallen still.
Freya looks back at me like a small dark sentinel waiting for orders.
“Go on,” Briar murmurs.
Freya squares her shoulders and marches forward, holding the basket of rosebuds.
I step forward beside Briar.
The ceremony room is simple. Almost stark. A few neat rows of chairs. Cream walls. Tall windows letting in soft morning light.
There’s no music.
Just the quiet rustle of people turning to look at me.
For a moment, the lack of grandeur feels strange. When I was younger and imagined my wedding, there had been a long aisle, music swelling in the background, hundreds of flowers.
But when my gaze lifts and finds James standing at the front of the room, all of that fades away.
My breath leaves me in a rush.
Those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, it feels as if I’ve been pinned in place. My steps falter.
